


The Iron Crown

by TazmainianDevil



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Female Bilbo, M/M, Misuse of canon, The Mummy!Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TazmainianDevil/pseuds/TazmainianDevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Determined to find an adventure of her own, Bilbo Baggins journeys to a lost dwarven city and accidentally awakens an ancient evil</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Iron Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leupagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/gifts).



 

 

 

Hobbits were the type of people who could manage to exist quite comfortably almost anywhere. Still, there were things about living among the big folk that all too often lead to disaster.

 

Shelves, for instance, and ladders.

 

This could all have been avoided if elves were a less ridiculous size. Or if Bilbo had been paying attention to what she was doing. Not that she was about to mention that to Lindir, who's scolding was really getting rather ridiculous.

 

"Lord Elrond allows me here," She interrupted weakly. "Because I can speak and write high numenorian, and translate cirth runes and I because I am the only person anywhere who can work with that black speech that makes all your ears bleed."

 

"Lord Elrond allows you to stay out of respect for your mother and father. And I allow you here because occasionally you are useful." Lindir corrected. His tone was not malicious but Bilbo felt humiliation burning under her cheeks. "To do that you must focus your energy here and only here."

 

"Of course," She dropped her gaze, nodding. "I think it best I start repairing all this."

 

"Elbereth forefend," Lindir breathed. "Go get yourself something to eat halfling. This is better handled by someone with experience."

 

Angry and ashamed, Bilbo couldn't bring herself to do more than slink away. She had no appetite; long years living with the elves had accustomed her to their three meal schedule - supplemented with a hearty midmorning snack and afternoon tea - but whenever they wanted her out from underfoot, someone always suggested she eat something.

 

Instead of her room or the kitchens, Bilbo wandered to the cool dimness of the chamber in which they stored the shards of Narsil. Few elves came to see the statues there or the long mural depicting the end of Sauron's reign. It was a good place to gather one's thoughts. She reached out to trace the embroidery on the cloth that covered Narsil's shrine, not quite daring to touch the pieces.

 

"You know we could fix that if they asked."

 

Bilbo shrieked in surprise.

 

Her feet slipped off the statue's polished base and she would have cracked her head open on the floor if she hadn't fallen back to land directly on a slightly squashy pile of dwarf and woolly hat.

 

"Bofur!" Bilbo scrambled up enough that she could throw her arms around his neck. "It's so good to see you."

 

"Aye, you too," She felt his grin along with the brush of his moustache against her cheek. "Before you decided to launch yourself at me."

 

"You shouldn't sneak up on a person like that!" Bilbo pulled back to swat at his shoulder, before gesturing that he should help her up. "What are you doing in here, anyway?"

 

"Looking for you."

 

"Your caravan wasn't due to come this way for another two months - Oh Bofur, no." She stopped dead in the hallway to glare at him.

 

He put up both hands, all wide eyed innocence. "What?"

 

Bofur was from Ered Luin, but he traveled hither and yon selling his skills as a tinker along with clever toys and woodcarvings. They had become friends because the caravan he usually traveled along with stopped at the edge of Rivendell twice a year and Bilbo employed them to carry her post back to the Shire. Most of the dwarves and men in the caravan made her a little nervous but Bofur had been all smiles and easy camaraderie from the very first moment of their acquaintance. Bilbo found his friendly manners a relief among the aloof formality of the elves in Lord Elrond's house and looked forward to his visits. For the most part.

 

Every so often Bofur would arrive unexpectedly, with a plan or a scheme for adventure, or a trinket he'd been assured was ancient and powerful, or on occasion being chased by angry people to whom  _he_ had assured something was ancient and powerful.

 

"Are you being chased again? Because I have nowhere to hide you but my quarters and I will not have you causing another incident after that thing with the smoked ham," Bofur opened his mouth but she put a hand up to stop him before he could speak. "No don't tell me. It's another priceless relic your sister's betrothed's cousin found while mining in-"

 

She cut off as Bofur thrust something under her nose.

 

It was a cylinder. Cool, tarnished silver, etched over with lines of alternating ancient cirth and quenya lettering that formed no words she could read at a glance. Affixed with tiny silver catches to the center of the tube was a jagged piece of black metal which looked nearly as sharp as the shards of Narsil.

 

"What is it?" She breathed, entranced.

 

"I was hoping you could tell me, lass."

 

As she tipped it to look at the whole inscription there was a heavy clank of metal hitting metal. "There's something inside." The end caps, however, did not seem to unscrew.

 

"Tried that," Bofur said mildly over her little noise of frustration, reaching over to pluck it from her searching fingers. "Took me almost the whole way here to open the blasted thing." He pressed his two forefingers and his thumb to three unremarkable looking symbols on the edge of one cap and the whole thing lifted free as easily as if it were new made. "But I thought it best to leave this for you."

 

A roll of parchment peaked from the top, brittle and browned with incredible age. Dropping onto the nearest bench, Bilbo gingerly pulled it free and unrolled it over the stone.

 

It was a map.

 

The top left corner showed an unmarked mountain range north east of a river and close to the sea, but the bulk of the paper was taken up with a map of a city. Each location marked in that spidery quenya lettering and primeval cirth, leading to something beneath it.

 

"This isn't elvish," she realized. "This is black speech. This hasn't been spoken among the free peoples in hundreds of years."

 

Bofur leaned over the bench form the opposite side, squinting at the map as though trying to read it upside down. "And what does that mean?"

 

"It means that for once I think you've found something."

 

* * *

 

 

The metal object that had clanked against the cylinder's sides turned out to be a small golden ring. It didn't fit Bofur's thicker fingers and seemed unrelated to either parchment or case, so Bilbo strung it on the chain that held her parent’s wedding bands on their way to see Lord Elrond.

 

* * *

 

 

"It's Belegost" She declared, spreading the parchment out on the table as though it were made of gold. Frankly, Bilbo counted the map as much more valuable than gold but other races were queer about things like that.

 

Elrond looked nonplussed. "That city is gone. It was destroyed in the great sundering."

 

"It was damaged," Bilbo agreed. "And there was a great exodus to Moria. And the way back to the city was lost. Until now." She tapped the corner of the parchment with the river and mountain range.

 

"These place names are long forgotten." Elrond traced a finger over the cirth labels. "This could be anywhere in Middle Earth. And this," He narrowed his eyes at the spiky quenya.

 

"It's black speech," Bilbo squeaked. To know something that Lord Elrond did not was a heady feeling. To be able to contribute her knowledge! "It says-"

 

"Do not speak that tongue within the walls of Imladris, Bilbo Baggins!" He snapped.

 

She subsided instantly. "I only meant that there may yet be something there. The remains of a lost city from the first age. Think of what we could learn." She was pleading now but Bilbo couldn't bring herself to care.

 

"The first age was a time of great glories and great mistakes," Elrond bowed his head briefly. "It would not be wise to go digging through its secrets."

 

"But Lord Elrond-"

 

"No, Bilbo. I understand that this seems harsh to you, you found a place here because you consider all knowledge worth having. But some secrets are meant to stay buried." He stood and in one smooth motion tore the paper in half and cast it towards the fire.

 

Bilbo made a noise of protest and started forward, but the elf lord held her back with one implacable hand on her shoulder. "Put it from your mind, halfling." He instructed and swept from the room.

 

* * *

 

 

"We should go ourselves."

 

"I can't go Bofur."

 

She'd returned to her room with the half of the map which had escaped the fire and resigned herself to lying on her bed in a fit of despondency. Bofur had followed, seeming content to sit on her bed and needle her for the rest of the morning. "And why not? You too happy with all the accolades yer getting here?"

 

Bilbo's sigh was answer in itself. "What am I to do? Go back to Bag End? We hardly lived there even when my parents were alive. Between the two of them we were always travelling somewhere for some grand adventure. Coming here was supposed to be my chance at one but no one will let me do anything. They all say the wilds are no place for someone like me. Or they call me halfling and send me off to the kitchens."

 

"And do you agree with them?" He propped himself up on the wall next to her.

 

Bilbo shot him an outraged look, her depression fading in place of anger. "I am not  _half_  of anything!"

 

"Well these long-shanks are never going to take your word for it. Any dwarf knows that. You have to prove it to them." Bofur tugged her up, one arm around her shoulders, the other holding the cylinder out to take. “This  _is_  your adventure."

 

"This is mine," Bilbo repeated once, softly and then again with growing determination. "This is my chance. And I'll show them all what I can do!" She snatched the case away and raced for her drawers. "Pack your bags Bofur. We're going on an adventure!"

 

He laughed and she saw him duck a flying petticoat. "There's the brave Bilbo I knew was in there."

 

"We don't have the whole map any longer," She pulled out her travel pack from where it had lived since she'd arrived in Rivendell so many years ago. "So we're going to need the man you bought it from."

 

"Ah. Well, about that."

 

* * *

 

 

"Here, Bofur? You got that here?"

 

Bilbo kept her voice to a hiss, not wanting to draw too much notice. They were, after all, in a prison.

 

"Well the bloke in question wasn't in prison when I won it off him."

 

"Cheated it, you mean."

 

"When I won it off him in a game at which I had perhaps a small advantage."

 

"Bofur!" Her shout drew the attention of a group of drunks who began hooting out the bars of their cell. Bilbo was reminded yet again why she loathed Bree.

 

Bofur made a gesture that Bilbo didn't recognize in that sign language dwarves used, judging by the dull roar in response it meant something rude. "Well the last I saw the guards were dragging him away, so I figured it was a good bet he'd be here. And look," He gestured to the cell that the sullen looking man had guided them to. "I was right."

 

"You!"

 

The roar from the shadowed back of the small cell made Bilbo jump. An enormous Dwarf hit the bars, glaring fit to set Bofur on fire.

 

He was a mass of hair. Long, grey streaked black tangles obscured much of his face and at least half the rest was covered with a scraggly beard or dried blood from a barely healed gash over one eyebrow. He was terrifying. Or at least he should have been, brutish and dirty as a dwarf could be, but his blue eyes stopped her short. The colour of a winter sky and just as cold, they were the eyes of a man who had done much and seen more and had not broken.

 

"You stole from me, filth."

 

"Don't bet what you can't bear to part with." Bofur shot back. "I won fair and square."

 

"Fair?" The word was a growl.

 

"Enough," Bilbo stepped between them. "This is not why we are here."

 

That winter gaze snapped to her and Bilbo was made abruptly aware of how she must look to this dwarrow.

 

They had come right to the prison from the road, but even with travel dust coating them Bilbo's clothes were of fine quality and strange cut for the men of Bree. She had become accustomed to wearing a blend of hobbit and elven styles in her time at Rivendell and there was no question she must look a sight. The skirts of her dress flowed to her ankles, much longer than a respectable hobbit would wear, but she had kept a vest-style bodice and forgone the voluminous elven cloak in favour of a neat overcoat. Her curls had pulled themselves free of their respectable knot and she could feel them brushing her temples and cheeks.

 

"W-we want to know how to get to the city on the map." She said, after too long a pause. It was hard not to be cowed by the strange, commanding dwarf. "To Belegost."

 

"It's a myth." He retorted, too quickly.

 

"At least tell us where you came by the container." Bilbo asked. "The scroll. Did you buy it from someone?"

 

"I didn’t buy it."

 

"Did you steal it then?"

 

“I am no thief!” The words were shouted to the prison at large. “No matter what these men may say!” The guard in his cell kicked out his knees with a vicious sneer and the dwarf was forced to grab the bars to stop from bashing his head against them. "I found it,” He said with a grimace. “In the Misty Mountains.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“And then followed it,” he continued. “To Belegost.”

 

“You were actually there?” Bilbo couldn’t keep the suspicion out of her voice but it seemed to amuse the wild dwarf, for there was a smile playing at the edges of his lips that quite transformed him.

 

“On the line of my fathers.”

 

“Well I’m sure that’s very impressive.”

 

The smile dropped away as the dwarf rolled his eyes and turned back to Bofur. "You should get your floozy out of here."

 

Bofur snorted and Bilbo squawked. "Floozy!" She pushed close enough to jab his rude chest through the bars. "I'll have you know I am a scholar of more than a little renown! The discovery of Belegost is a tremendous opportunity for your people. You should be leaping at the chance to recover such an important part of your own history."

 

"And the fact that the city boasted so much of the  _khazâd's_  ancient wealth means nothing at all to you."

 

Bilbo scoffed. "You can keep the blasted treasure for all I care. Drop it down a mineshaft if it pleases you."

 

Behind her Bofur made a strangled noise of protest.

 

"You want to know?" The dwarf beckoned her close with a gesture. "Are you sure?"

 

Bilbo nodded, leaning in and found herself quite too shocked to move when he seized her by the back of her neck and slanted his mouth over her own.

 

His lips were quite a bit softer than she had expected.

 

His scraggly looking beard scraped lightly at her cheeks and that was softer than she'd thought a beard might be too. Everything was clinging sweet and hot and Bilbo made a noise that was not nearly as outraged as it should have been. And then suddenly the dwarf was gone.

 

Two men had hauled him backwards from her. He managed to subdue one and struggled against the second long enough to shout. "Then free me!" before they dragged him away.

 

Bilbo stood there stunned for a moment before the sound of laughter cleared her head. She turned to admonish Bofur, but it was not him mocking her. The chuckling came from the adjacent cell where a red headed dwarf was doubled over gasping for air.

 

Dismissing him, Bilbo focused on their guide. “I need to get that dwarf released.”

 

“Not possible.”

 

“Make it possible!” She shouted. This finally made the big man blink and actually look at her.

 

“He stole from the mayor, and the magistrate and half the bloody households in town. Word is there is a price on his head all the way from the elves back east. They’re going to hang him.”

 

Bofur whistled low and long, drawing her away from the guard. “Hanging’s a bad death for a dwarf. Our necks never break and we don’t go easy.”

 

Bilbo felt ill as she watched the big dwarf lead away, fighting tooth and nail for every step.

 

“I thought they’d take a hand at most,” The red head from the next cell draped his arms over the crossbar. “Wouldn’t have framed him if I knew he was for the rope.”

 

Both Bofur and Bilbo gaped at him. “You’re the thief?” She all but shouted.

 

“Keep your voice down!” No one so much as glanced her way, they were all much too focused on the show in the prison yard. “It was better him than me. The men think we all look alike anyway.”

 

Bilbo took off running.

 

* * *

 

 

“But he didn’t even commit those crimes!” She implored the big man who was acting as warden. He was an odious looking human; clearly balding, though taking pains to try and hide it. He introduced himself as the Master, which Bilbo felt was ridiculously self-important. “You must let him go.”

 

“I’m so sorry little lady,” He said with a sneer that made it clear he was not sorry at all. “But it is known that the Elven King of the Greenwood does not like this dwarf. And I want the Elven King to like me.”

 

On the gallows they were fastening a rope around the dwarf’s strong neck. “I can pay you!” Bilbo offered. “Fifty gold pieces.”

 

“Thranduil would pay me that much just to tell the story with a little flair.”

 

“A hundred.”

 

“No deal.” He waived an imperious hand and the trapdoor opened, the Dwarf dropped and Bilbo surged forward helplessly.

 

Bofur was right, his neck had not snapped. Every muscle exposed by his torn tunic was straining as he fought to drag air into his lungs. She looked back into the greedy eyes of the Master. He was not going to respond to gold, not the sums that Bilbo had to tempt him with. He wanted status, power.

 

“That dwarf is a king!” She cried. The whole shouting prison seemed to draw in a breath with her as the Master’s attention refocused quite firmly on Bilbo.

 

“A king.”

 

“Yes,” She had always been a good storyteller, and as she groped for a lie one spun itself out for her whole and flawless. “He – The reason the Elven King wants this dwarf killed is because long ago his forefathers, the Dwarves of Belegost stole a simaril from them. A jewel prized even by the Valar.”

 

“That’s a bedtime story.”

 

“Ah, but Belegost is not. They say its location was lost after the first age, that its people scattered and forgot their homeland. But,” He was following her story now; she could see it in his eyes. “The dwarves guard their secrets well and in a line of unbroken kings they kept the location of Belegost. The last, legendary dwarven city. Where the very walls are made of gold.” She leaned in very close, as though reluctant to share the secret. “He is the only one who knows its location.”

 

“Truly?”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo promised. “Turn him loose and we will give you a tenth of anything, everything we find.”

 

“Half.” The Master demanded immediately.

 

“Twenty percent.”

 

“Thirty.” There was a greedy smile on his face now that made Bilbo’s skin crawl.

 

“A quarter,” she offered. “A quarter of the wealth of a whole dwarven kingdom. “

 

“Done!” And he stood, shouting for an executioner to cut the dwarf down as Bilbo fought not to look too smug.

 

“And,” She added over the din of the prisoners shouting. “We want the red-headed dwarf as well.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How did you know?” The dwarf rasped as he was lead past her.

 

Bilbo stared at him, bewildered. “Know what?”

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo left Bofur at the prison to see to their new acquisitions and he returned with a vicious black eye and a plan for them to all meet the next morning at the Brandywine Bridge to make the bulk of the journey by boat. The bruise was still purple the next morning, but the day was bright and clear and they were alone on the docks.

 

“He’s not coming, is he?” Bilbo was fretting, she knew it, but couldn’t manage to stop. “All that and he’s not even going to show up. I should have known better. He’s just a filthy, rude scoundrel isn’t he?”

 

“Less filthy now.” A deep voice interrupted her tirade. Bilbo whirled around to see someone who bore a very small resemblance to her jailbird dwarf.

 

The unruly, black hair had been brushed to a shine and carefully braided, twinkling with silver beads. He wore sleeveless chainmail over a deep blue tunic and under a dark leather surcoat. A worked metal belt and carved gauntlets completed the look of wild, proud warrior. He looked every inch the king Bilbo had claimed he was and she couldn’t help but think no one would be turning him down for a dance.

 

“H-Hello Master Dwarf. We were hoping we hadn’t missed you.”

 

“Well not missed you so much as lost you entirely,” Bofur added, tactlessly.

 

The dwarf loomed, impassive for a moment. “I lost my way.”

 

“Fortunately, I found him” The red headed thief shouldered his way past the group and towards the boat, nodding at Bilbo. “Nori at your service. Budge up Oakenshield.”

 

“Oh is that your name?” Bilbo exclaimed. “In the confusion I had quite forgotten to ask.”

 

“There are some who call me such, Mrs… Baggins was it?” He nodded at Bofur. “And Mr. Baggins.”

 

“Ach not exactly,” Bofur sketched a little bow. “Bofur son of Bomur of the Ered Luin Broadbeams. This is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, though lately she’s been of Rivendell, and a very good friend.”

 

Oakenshield twitched a little at the mention of Rivendell, but offered a deep bow in return. “I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror of the line of Durin; at your service.”

 

“I – “ Bofur’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out of it.

 

“Forgive my friend, please,” Bilbo covered. “He sees real manners so rarely they leave him quite stunned. Please go get settled and we shall join you.”

 

Master Oakenshield’s glare seemed to soften minutely and he nodded before making his way up the gangplank.

 

“You’ve found quite the mithril vein there lass.” Bofur seemed a second away from collapse. “Best to tap it quick and no mistake.”

 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she offered haughtily. Only too happy to head for the boat and avoid whatever mortifying thing Bofur might come up with next. Before she should take more than a step, an elf shoved past knocking her back into Bofur.

 

“Well excuse me!” She gave him her crossest glare when he turned around.

 

“Watch your step Halfling.”

 

“Hobbit,” Bilbo insisted. “We are in hobbit country now; there is really no excuse for this ignorance.”

 

The elf ignored her comment, offering an imperious nod before turning on his heel.

 

“Oh, honestly!”

 

Bofur just shrugged, shouldering her bag. “Big folk. All that pointless height must stretch out their brains.”

 

* * *

 

 

There were rather a lot of big folk on the Buckleberry Barge. In fact the only hobbits aboard at all were the boatmen and Bilbo herself, and they seemed to think her strange company was reason enough to avoid her.

 

In addition to the rude elf, who hadn’t bothered to give his name, there was a group of mercenary types in matching red tunics who seemed to be working for him. The elf was one of the silvan, unless Bilbo missed her guess. Lacking the unearthly look of his sindar cousins but no less haughty for all that. She resolved to stay well clear of them all but Bofur and Nori seemed to have no such compunction; Sitting down almost immediately to dice with the mercenaries.

 

Nori seemed to take great pleasure in irritating his former cellmate, calling Master Oakenshield over to put down a wager them when the dwarf walked past.

 

“I have no gold to bet with.” Oakenshield said. “And neither did you before we got on this boat.”

 

Nori blanched a little as some of the men moved to check their purses. From her vantage point further down the deck Bilbo didn’t try to hide her grin as the thief moved to distract them all. “Well you can wager against what we find at the mountain.”

 

That brought Oakenshield up short. “You told them our destination.”

 

 The glare on his face could have frozen someone faint of heart but Nori did not even look round. “Bofur mentioned it.”

 

Bofur was not made of such stern stuff, and he certainly quailed when Oakenshield’s glower turned on him.

 

“Turns out they were already going the same way,” Nori continued, blithely. “They have a guide who has been there before.”

 

“Not that that would worry us,” Bofur crowed, pleased at a lucky roll. “Because-“ Oakenshield’s hand came down on his shoulder like an iron bar. “-dwarf stone sense is second to none.”

 

“First right of dig spots says we’ll beat you there.” One of the men taunted.

 

“Done.” Oakenshield said instantly. Then he was storming Bilbo’s way like a thundercloud. She bent her head over her notebook as he passed, but raised it again to watch as he began to pull weapons from his person and arrange them across the opposite side of the table.

 

She’d noticed the broad bladed sword he’d worn at one hip and the bow strapped to his back on the same belt that carried the iron tipped spar of wood she’d first thought was a quiver; but the throwing axes were a surprise. As was the short dagger and the long hunting knife. When he reached for his pack and pulled free a thick hafted battle axe Bilbo exploded.

 

“Are you expecting to outfit an entire army?”

 

Oakenshield looked up at her from where he had begun to oil a polishing cloth. “I prefer not to be caught unprepared.”

 

“But there is nothing in Belegost,” She protested. “Sackville is quite the last settled place to the southwest before the mountains.”

 

“That city is not empty.” He insisted gravely. “I have walked the ruins of the great kingdoms of my forebears. They are never as deserted as we might believe.”

 

The expression on his face spoke of knowledge gained at great cost. “Why go at all?” Bilbo barely dared give voice to the question.

 

“There was something there I needed,” He looked out over the water, towards where the last light of the sun painted the sky with a blaze of red. “The legends say that the dwarves of Belegost were the only ones in middle earth who could stand against a dragon.”

 

“Oh!” She remembered that tale well. “They defeated Glaurung, the great dragon. With helms and mail that were immune to his fire.”

 

He looked surprised at her knowledge, and a little pleased if Bilbo was not mistaken. “Yes.”

 

“And you went to find the armour.” He nodded. “But why?”

 

Oakenshield’s face fell and he turned back to his weapons again. “It does not matter. We found nothing.”

 

They lapped again into silence but Bilbo couldn't focus on her translation. Every few moments she found herself looking up to study Oakenshield. His sharp straight nose, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his brow smoothed as he found ease in the task of caring for his weapons.

 

“Back at the prison,” She blurted and he jerked his head up as though he had forgotten she was there. “Why did you kiss me?”

 

“They were about to hang me,” he shrugged. “It seemed a good idea to take one last chance.”

 

Bilbo’s mouth opened but she could think of not a single thing to say.

 

“Why?” Oakenshield continued, with just a hint of wickedness in his tone. “Did I steal your first kiss?”

 

He had, in fact, but Bilbo would certainly go to her grave without letting him know such a thing. “It is only that such a thing was unforgivably rude.” She sniffed, snapping her book shut and striding away from the table without a backwards glance. Insufferable dwarf!

 

* * *

 

 

The dwarves, Bilbo reflected mutinously, were multiplying.

 

Bofur had found another one of his countrymen to dice with. This one was blond, with rather less elaborate braids than Nori but possessed of a more impressive beard than any of Bilbo's companions. They were quite a merry party and Bilbo found herself abandoning her transcription to listen to their stories.

 

The new dwarf was winding up the tale of how a friend had lost his fearsome mohawk to the machinations of a pair of tiny dwarflings and a bowl of sticky treacle when Oakenshield's rumbling voice joined the punchline and he jerked to his feet so fast the chair was knocked to the ground.

 

“Thorin.” The dwarf breathed.

 

Oakenshield looked as though someone could push him over with a feather, but he was smiling. “Vili.”

 

They caught one another by both forearms and brought their heads together with a thud that Bilbo could practically feel halfway across the deck. “I thought you dead.”

 

“I almost was,” Thorin’s grip tightened. “Dwalin? Did Dwalin make it out?”

 

“Aye, Vili pulled back with a rueful half smile. “Nearly separated my head from my shoulders when he woke up and realized we’d left you there. He’s back in the Blue Mountains with Dis and the boys. She wouldn’t let me back in the house when I came home without you.”

 

Thorin laughed, but Vili did not join in and Bilbo realized he was in earnest.

 

“The boys,” Thorin’s whole face seemed transformed with happiness. “They are well?”

 

“Kili writes to me,” Pride suffused Vili's voice and Thorin seemed to realize exactly what his brother in law was saying. “I’m scraping together what I can to send back to them.”

 

“You’re leading the second group to Belegost.”

 

“Aye.”

 

“But why? How can you give up our secrets to the elves?”

 

“You're leading the Halfling lass.”

 

“The hobbit saved my life,” Thorin retorted. “And the Broadbeam claims her as dwarf-friend. The legacy of Belegost is not for scavengers to pick over.”

 

“Were you planning on taking back that mountain as well, my lord?” Vili mocked, his expression souring with each word. “Their coin is good and he is one elf. Let him stumble into Belegost’s traps. There is nothing there to find.”

 

“The masks, the armour-“

 

“Are gone! If they were ever there at all. That place is full of death, Thorin. You know it better even than I do. No khazâd would settle there even if it could be cleared.”

 

“ _Elves_ though, Vili. You know what they did. To my people, to Dis.”

 

“ _Money_ , Thorin.” He answered in the same tone. “And the food it can buy. The chance your sister will let me see my sons again.”

 

“She could not have meant to bar you from them wholly.”

 

“The line of Durin loves its own more fiercely.” Vili snapped, drawing away. “You were more of a father to them than I ever got to be.”

 

“You were barely there to be their father!”

 

He stalked past Thorin towards the door which led below decks. “I hope you are prepared to lose that wager!”

 

The shout made Thorin clench his fists but he offered no response. Bofur’s hand on her arm tugged Bilbo away before she could say a word, leaving the proud dwarf alone on the open deck.

 

* * *

 

 

There was not much room below the deck of the ferryboat, but by virtue of being the only female aboard Bilbo had been given her own tiny cabin. She could not seem to appreciate the luxury of it though, not when Thorin’s tortured face kept running through her thoughts.

 

She bent away from the window to retrieve her comb and when she straightened Bilbo found herself staring into a pair of narrowed green eyes. She screamed in surprise and surged backwards, flinging the shutter closed on the figure. The person blocked the blow easily and crawled like a spider through the porthole and into the pool of candlelight. Their features were completely concealed by a combination of a dark hood and a black scarf over the face but the voice that issued forth was female.

 

“Give me the key little creature.”

 

Bilbo backed up until she hit the wall, trying to keep the room’s tiny table between her and the invader. “What key?”

 

“The shard. Give it to me now!”

 

“I don’t-“ She protested and the hooded figure started for her with a growl, drawing a long, sharp sword. Bilbo drew breath to scream again when the door banged open and Thorin came in like a whirlwind. His dagger flying to bury itself in the wall only inches from the invader’s head.

_“Khazâd ai-mênu!”_

 

The covered figure scrambled for Bilbo, but she was fast and small and more vicious that most took her for. She ducked, kicking for the knees, then threw herself forward into Thorin’s arms. He bent to catch her up and the movement pulled him just out of range of a dart, shot from yet another black clad person moving over the windowsill. One sweeping blow of the Iron tipped wood on his arm had the table upended, knocking the invader back through the window and sending Bilbo’s candles to the floor where they caught the threadbare carpet almost instantly ablaze.

 

The silver and black cylinder tumbled into the floor as the boat gave a lurch. "The map!" Bilbo lunged for it but Thorin dragged her back just in time to avoid the wild slash of the black clad female's knife

 

"Leave it."

 

"I need the inscription!"

 

He snatched up her notebook from the bed where flames were already licking at it and shoved it into her arms as he hauled her bodily out to the deck. "Here's your inscription."

 

* * *

 

 

Out in the open air was chaos. The fire was spreading quickly despite the efforts of the boatmen, and black clad figures were everywhere. Bilbo caught sight of Bofur immediately, swinging his mattock in deadly arcs alongside Nori who had two long wicked looking knives flashing in the moonlight. A shifting shadow caught her eye and Bilbo looked up to see another enemy poised to jump at the dwarves from the cabin roof. Without a thought she seized the first thing to hand and threw it with all her might.

 

Bilbo's arm had lost none of its accuracy from disuse and the oil lamp bust in a satisfying shower of glass and screaming as the figure was engulfed in flame.

 

Thorin gave her a long searching look, barely drawing his eyes away to block a sword blow aimed at Bilbo's head. "Good shot." He dispatched his opponent quickly and they rushed to their companions. 

 

"Who are these blokes then?" Bofur asked, shifting to let Bilbo step into the natural safe space created by three dwarrow fighting back to back.

 

"I don't know," She tracked the invaders, looking for one with bold green eyes among the smoke and flames. "But that one took the map!"

 

Nori glanced over to where she was pointing and slipped away from the railing towards where the cloaked figure was battling a group of the mercenaries. He took two of the enemy down before he reached her, striking out clumsily and stumbling forward when she dodged and his momentum caused him to overshoot and brush past her. The covered woman hauled Nori up by his throat and in one movement tossed him over the side of the barge.

 

Bilbo cried out in protest, but Thorin was more concerned with her. "Can you swim?"

 

Sweat from the heat of the fire was sticking her curls to her forehead and the boat was overrun with brigands but it still seemed a better option than the swirling dark water below.  "I am a hobbit!"

 

He parried another strike and ran the enemy through. "Is that a no?"

 

"Here," Bofur hooked a chair with the end of his mattock and passed it to her. "Take this."

 

Bilbo grabbed it without thinking and had just enough time to wonder what he meant before Thorin caught her about the waist and tossed her overboard.

 

* * *

 

 

"Your expedition lacks supplies, Thorin!" Vili shouted from where he was hauling crates out of the water on the opposite bank.

 

Thorin looked the land over. "Your expedition is on the wrong side of the river!"

 

"As though that will help us." Bilbo ignored Vili's faint cursing. Sliding off Bofur's shoulders and struggling the last few steps to the shore with her wet nightgown wrapping around her legs. "We've lost everything. Our packs, our food, my clothes. Everything but this!" She waved her sopping notebook.

 

"And my hat," Bofur offered. "We still have that."

 

"I have my weapons." Thorin gestured with his sword, flicking the water from the blade in a sweeping motion before sheathing it again.

 

"Wonderful. We can defend ourselves long enough to die of exposure in style. Bother the both of you." She stomped a foot in frustration. "And whoever those dark men were, they have the map!"

 

Familiar laughter filled the air. "Well I can't help you with the first three," Nori said, grinning at them from farther up the embankment. "But I can give you this."

 

He tossed her something. Thorin managed to catch it before it struck Bilbo in the face. "The map!" She cried, delighted. "You picked her pocket."

 

"Once a thief, always a thief." Nori levered himself up. "That's my debt repaid Miss. Baggins. You'll forgive me if I hope I never see you three again."

 

And despite Bilbo’s shouting he was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

 They were rather close to Sackville as it turned out. The commotion of the burning boat had drawn a few of the more curious hobbits from their holes even in the dark. Bilbo quickly found herself bustled away by  a concerned matron who asked her a number of poorly veiled questions that were, she realized at length, and attempt to suss out whether she was being kidnapped. Bilbo hardly had the energy to protest, especially not when the questions lead to warm, dry clothes.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in his life Thorin was enjoying the dubious pleasure of being too tall for his surroundings. Their host, a rotund and nervous looking hobbit had allowed them a chance to rest and dry themselves off and seemed amenable to a little trading. But he had also insisted on showing them about the homey hole he referred to as a smial and while Thorin’s stone sense approved of the fact that hobbits were wise enough to build beneath the earth, he had struck his head on the lintels no less than four times since their arrival.

 

It was for that reason and no other that Thorin found himself dazed when Miss Baggins was finally returned to them. The long draped lines of her elvish dresses had made Bilbo look rather like a dwarrow girl in her mother’s gowns. In hobbit clothing, however, she was every inch the woman. The tight bodice emphasised the curve of her breasts, and the spreading skirts showed off her hips. The deep green-teal made the gold in Miss Baggins’ hair glow and her bare feet, even so large as they were, made her seem appealingly dishabille.

 

“So that’s what a proper Miss Baggins looks like.” Bofur was laughing at his shoulder. “I must say lass, it suits you.”

 

Bilbo turned as pink as the petals which adorned the fabric. “Bofur, really.”

 

“My Lord Thorin agrees, doncha?”

 

Bilbo turned her dark blue eyes on him and all Thorin could croak out was “Aye.”

 

* * *

 

 

The hobbits couldn't seem to send them off fast enough, offering a few shaggy ponies that were clearly more suited to pulling carts than bearing riders. Bilbo pulled a ring off the chain she wore around her neck; offered the wide band of gold to their hosts.

 

“Miss Baggins,” Thorin dismounted, pushing her offering away. “You need not give away your heirlooms.” Years on the road wandering had made him careful about keeping coin on his person at all times. What little he had, he’d intended to use to get himself back to Ered Luin, but there was nothing for it in this case.

 

Miss Baggins tutted a refusal. “Maker Oakenshield, this is my adventure and the cost for it mine to bear.”

 

They faced one another down for a moment, and all of Thorin’s pretensions at gallantry were barely a breath away from falling apart. He was not at all sure his meager purse would cover their costs. The gentlehobbit and his wife seemed to pick up on their tension and immediately insisted they could take nothing.

 

“Apply to Hobbiton.” Bilbo made them promise. “To my cousin by marriage Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. She handles my estate.”

 

The couple agreed, but seemed more pleased to be rid of them then at the recompense. They rode in silence for the most part, Bilbo struggling with her pony and Bofur noodling on his tin whistle. Nearly half the morning past before Thorin dared the question that had been niggling at him.

 

"They seem…"

 

"Ill at ease with me?" Bilbo picked up his meaning instantly. "Hobbits are a simple people. We rarely travel and we like our comforts. To them I am a scandal. I mean, I would have been a scandal even had I not been found in the middle of the night with two dwarves in a wet nightdress. They don't want to get to close lest the reputation of being less than respectable rub off."

 

"So you are more at home with the elves."

 

"In truth? No. The elves see me as a curiosity, I think. Like a pleasant, inquisitive child. A side effect of being so small by comparison," She laughed and then checked herself; to her Thorin Oakenshield might be imposing large, but he would not be so measured against an elf. "Not that anyone would mistake you for a child."

 

"No, the beards quite give us away."

 

She stared at him for a moment in shock and then burst into peals of laughter.

 

* * *

 

 

 They cleared the marshes just as the sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon, stepping out onto the flat plain land that lead to the foot of the mountains. Thorin held up a hand and they brought their mounts up at the same moment an elf broke the treeline far to the south.

 

The mercenaries followed, clearly struggling under the weight of their gear and supplies. Vili brought up the rear and his bark of bitter laughter when he caught sight of the three of them was audible even at such a distance.

 

“What are the odds,” Bofur pondered. “That the elf will honor our wager?”

 

There was a brief discussion among the other party and the elf broke away, sprinting for the mountain. “Looks good!” Thorin kicked at his pony’s ribs and they were off, Bilbo and Bofur roaring with laughter as they thundered over the grass.

 

Elves were swift of foot and did not tire, and their little mounts were not meant for the chase but the three of them had less distance to travel. For all that Thorin was the better rider Bilbo seemed bound and determined to outpace everyone. She came bouncing up to him, bent low over her pony’s neck and crying encouragements at the beast. As they drew abreast she lifted her face to grin a challenge and then sped past in a blur of impractical skirts. Bofur was urging them on from behind, tossing acorns at the men who were trying to keep pace with their elf leader.

  

* * *

 

 

The great gate had fallen open. One massive slab of stone had dropped at an angle to land braced against the side of the canyon; it’s once adorned face weathered by the ages until it was all but indistinguishable from the mountain around it. The blockage had served to protect the city from animals and elements, leaving the interior dry and cool, though terribly dark.

 

Thorin and Bofur seemed unbothered by the lack of light but Bilbo was happy the men and elves had brought so many torches. Belegost was in terrible ruin, there was no mistaking it, but the glory of the place was overwhelming.

 

The entrance hall opened up into a great chamber, large enough that it could have held the entirety of Rivendell. Portions of the ceiling and walls had collapsed in, blocking off almost a third of the space but there were more than a few tunnels that seemed intact.

 

“You won the wager,” The elf said, obviously attempting to look ageless and superior and like he would never entertain the idea of racing a couple of dwarves and a hobbit. “Choose.”

 

Thorin looked to Bilbo and she almost said the tunnel opposite the gates, then she caught sight of a fissure where some of the roof had crashed through the floor, revealing steps below and remembered something Bofur had once said about the love all dwarves had for the deep stone. “We will go down.”

 

Both Bofur and Thorin smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

The fissure and the avalanche of rubble beneath lead them to a stairway that passed through a narrow tunnel. After the first hundred steps or so the right hand wall melted quite suddenly away and Bilbo found herself staring into a massive well of darkness. She stumbled back with a gasp, clinging to the remaining wall.

 

She could see nothing at all beyond the weak, yellow glow of her lantern. The sound of Thorin stepping somewhere beyond the light seemed faint, as though the dark had physical presence enough to muffle noise. She could fall, Bilbo realized, she could fall and fall forever. She felt frozen, as though caught in the grip of some evil dream. Bilbo’s toes curled against the rock, her knees bent, gathering momentum to fling herself forward and jump out into that great endless black.

 

“All right there, Bilbo?” She started violently as Bofur touched her shoulder and she very nearly lost her footing.

 

“I-‘m fine. Yes, of course I’m fine.”

 

“It’s not as deep as it looks,” He assured her. “Only another thirty feet to the bottom. Thorin! We need a torch.”

 

“I think I may have found something better!” There was the sound of steel striking flint and a spark catching.

 

A ribbon of fire raced its way around the curving walls of the shaft, refracted inside a crystal channel. The line circled the room three times, close to the floor and then moving higher, flooding the whole space with light.

 

“Well.” Bilbo breathed.

 

The chamber was empty. It had clearly not always been so, there were stone benches on the edges and rubble from whatever had broken in the cataclysm which had emptied Belegost. In the center of the floor, however, a perfect circle had been cleared; the detritus piled higher towards the edges of the room as though it had been blown back from the middle.

 

And inside that space there was writing.

 

Her fear forgotten, Bilbo raced down the last steps and scrambled over the rubble for a better look. The writing was silver metal set into a jet back stone seal; not-quite elvish characters, surrounded by ancient cirth. “Can you read it?” Thorin peered over her shoulder as Bilbo brushed dust from the script.

 

“I don’t – It’s gibberish,” She groped blindly for her notebook. “It’s written in a cipher. Except this.”

 

The word was placed alone in between two sections of the quenya text, the letters formed of gold instead of silver.

 

Thorin traced the cool metal. “What does it say?”

 

“Melkor.”

 

* * *

 

 

By unspoken consensus the whole group set their camp in the hall, leaving the ponies tied close to the entrance. The men sharing the spirits they’d brought along was probably not part of that agreement, but since their small group had made it back first Bofur had taken the intention to share as read and helped himself. Bilbo had been matching the dwarf drink for drink but had been so focused on trying to translate the copy she’d made of the writing that it wasn't until she tried to stand and could hardly manage it that she realized how far gone she was.

 

“I don’t usually do this you understand.” She plucked the bottle from Bofur’s sleep-slack grip and took another long swig before passing it to Thorin. “Bofur is an entirely terrible influence.”

 

Thorin took a swallow of his own and Bilbo was mesmerized watching the way his throat worked over the unlaced collar of his tunic. “Him, at least, I understand.”

 

“Dwarves,” She agreed, nodding too vehemently and having to right herself with more effort than should have been required. “They are completely bewildering.”

 

“And hobbits seem simple but  _you_  are not.” He was sitting very close now.

 

“Adventure is in my blood,” she explained, pulling the thin gold chain that held her parent’s rings out of her bodice and holding it up for his appraisal. “My mother was the most adventurous of hobbits. Even by Took standards. Which is of course, saying quite something.”

 

Thorin was smiling softly. “Of course.”

 

“And my father,” She touched the wider band, etched with the pattern of belladonna flowers. “He loved her so much that he couldn't bear to tie her to the Shire, so they went out exploring together.”

 

“And you?” His look was questioning. “You do not seem like the type to enjoy leaving behind your books. Why are you here?”

 

“Oh,” Bilbo drew herself up, indignant. “You are just like all the others, Master Oakenshield! I may not be an explorer or a-a burglar or a warrior and I may be small and not terribly strong but I am proud! - To be a hobbit and to be what I am.”

 

Thorin dropped his pipe, catching both her hands to prevent her overbalancing. “And what is it that you are?”

 

“I,” She declared. “Am a librarian.”

 

He was smiling at her again and Bilbo could recall with perfect clarity how his mouth had felt against her own. “Master Oakenshield,” She sank down again, this time astride his lap. “I’m going to kiss you.”

 

He leaned in for a breath then seemed to check himself. “Not so deep in your cups, Miss Baggins.”

 

“No, I am,” His hand slipped into her curls and she followed it’s guidance down to his shoulder, closing her eyes to the sensation with a sleepy smile. “I ought to have a better first kiss.”

 

Thorin’s low, resonant voice offering an apology was the last thing she heard before sleep claimed her.

 

* * *

 

 

She awoke the next morning with a gasp and a shout.

 

“The key!”

 

Thorin struggled to his feet tugging his knife out from where he’d slept with his hand on its hilt. Bofur pulled his hat further down over his eyes with a groan. “Lass, whatever you’ve figured out will keep until breakfast.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rather than going back to sleep Bilbo set about prying the black iron shard free of the silver cylinder. The moment it came free she was racing for the well-shaft without taking so much as a biscuit. Thorin followed, wary of letting her out of his sight but he was immeasurably relieved when Bofur arrived later with something to eat. Bilbo broke away from where she had been bent on the translation, stuffing a sandwich in her mouth and chattering happily away between bites.

 

It was more than a little disgusting, not in the least because Thorin couldn't help finding her enthusiasm rather adorable.

 

“The cirth is the story of the War of Wrath – at least I think so. The whole thing is in kuzdul which no one will teach me.” The last was said with a meaningful kick to Bofur’s shin. “But the names that should be there are there. The quenya is some kind of binding spell.”

 

“It isn't binding back anything useful is it?” Bofur needled her. “Like hoards of treasure or a fountain of ale?”

 

“No,” Bilbo touched her necklace, nervous fingers tracing the plain golden band she had added to it. “It says:  _Bugd-izg shakhburz Morgoth-Bauglir. Thrak-izgu lat durb; thrak-izgu lat azat; thrak-izgu lat thrak burzum!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

Far away in what had perhaps once been the throne room, the elf set the black shard he had taken when the hobbit dropped it perfectly into the broken space of an iron crown.

 

* * *

 

 

The coiling crystal light went out.

 

“Bofur?” Bilbo said, rather desperately. “Thorin? What happened to the lights?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Bofur replied. “The oil feed shouldn’t have stopped.”

 

“We'll lead you back up to camp.” Thorin offered his arm and eased Bilbo patiently up the staircase. Light had just begun to shade her world from black to grey when the sound of screaming reached their ears.

 

They hit the central cavern at a run just in time to meet a group of the mercenaries coming from one of the tunnels. “Who was that?” Thorin demanded; his weapon at the ready. “Where is Vili?”

 

“He was with the elf.”

 

“This place is full of traps. We must go after them.”

 

“Not likely,” The leader of the men scoffed. “A paycheck is a paycheck but I didn't sign on to die making a noise like that.” His fellows nodded and made for the exit at speed.

 

Thorin sighed, but did not seem overly surprised at the loss. “Bofur, keep Miss Baggins safe.”

 

“Now wait just a moment,” Bilbo darted in front of him, holding up a hand. “You can’t go alone.”

 

“I’ll not take you into danger,” Thorin swore. “Not willingly.”

 

“Surely that is my own choice.”  His jaw clenched and he would not reply, but Bilbo could see in his face the desperation to reach his brother in law. “Oh very well! Go without me if you must, but go together. I will stay here and load our packs.”

 

Bofur seemed torn between grateful that she had defused Thorin and agreed to stay and betrayed that she had volunteered him to go haring off into the tunnels. Still, he went without protest.

 

Bilbo checked her notebook again and tucked it in the pocket of her gown, shivering in the gloom.

 

Their bags had been repacked after Bofur made breakfast, but for wont of something to keep her hands busy Bilbo checked them again. The sound of soft footsteps growing closer made her whirl around but the hall was empty, just a swirl of dust eddying around her skirts.  

 

“Thorin?” She kept her voice soft, wary. “Bofur?” There was no reply. Bilbo took a few steps in the direction they’d left before stopping. She was berating herself for jumping at shadows when she felt an exhale against the back of her neck.

 

Bilbo spun around and then recoiled with a scream.

 

It was the elf and at the same time very much not the elf. His once pale eyes now burned red with a eerie light; his long bright hair had become a night dark curtain and an iron crown sat on his high brow. “ _Mairon_ ,” He straightened and reached for her with hands that were pitted and burned black. “ _Mairon mai acáriel. A tulë sir.”_

 

“Miss Baggins!” Thorin came haring back into the chamber, lowering his axe to check for over for injuries. “Master Elf we were looking for you-  _Mahal’s forge_!” He shoved Bilbo behind him with one arm.

 

“Ah everyone accounted for then?” Bofur skidded into Bilbo, giving her the same quick once over. “Here we were lookin’ and you found the – sweet stone! What happened to him?”

 

“ _Man carat, Mairon_?” The creature seemed puzzled but angry, shouting as he turned on the dwarves. “ _Heca, nessa arato! **Eca**!”_

 

Thorin matched its fury with a wordless bellow and swung his axe in a great arc, burying it in the creature’s chest. “Run!”

 

And run they did, out into the grey dawn light and into the waiting swords of near a hundred black clad warriors.

 

A woman stood in the center of the group, her arms crossed over her chest. She had not bothered to draw a weapon, clearly satisfied with the skill and number of men at her command. Fierce green eyes glared them down, condemning.

 

“You!” Bilbo pushed past Thorin’s warding arm. “You tried to kill us.”

 

“No one should have disturbed this place,” The woman said, jerking the silver case from Bilbo's grip. “You were warned.”

 

“That was not a warning! That was attempted murder.” Bilbo was scolding now; heedless of the number of sharp objects following her every move. Thorin shot a desperate look at Bofur, but the other dwarf simply clapped a hand over his eyes in mortified frustration. “You could have tried simply telling us not to come here.”

 

“Would you have listened? The Dunedain rangers have guarded this place for centuries and now you have loosed an unimaginable evil on the world.”

 

“It is dealt with.” Thorin announced.

 

His only response was bitter laughter. “You should leave this place. We will try to bind the enemy back.”

 

“Your enemy has my axe embedded in his chest cavity.”

 

“And you think this is enough to kill an aspect of one of the Valar?” she bent close to his face. “No mortal weapon will kill him. Run while you can.”

 

“We can help you!” Bilbo protested.

 

“You have done enough.” The woman straightened, signaling half her force forward

 

“We need to get out of here.” Bofur insisted.

 

“Oh,” Bilbo cried. “We can go home!”

 

* * *

 

 

After the dark horrors of Belegost, the well-tended garden and round green door seemed like a dream. Even under the pall of a thundering sky. “This is your home?” Thorin couldn’t help but look skeptically at the undefended houses and grassy lanes.

 

Bilbo walked confidently up the steps and pulled the bell. “It’s called Bag End. I haven’t been back since I came of age.”

 

The door swung open to reveal a hobbit woman wearing a loud floral print dress and a disapproving frown. ”And what time do you call this?”

 

Bilbo immediate pulled her into an embrace. “Oh Lobelia, I missed you.”

 

“Yes well,” Lobelia slapped her lightly away. “The Bracegirdle boys saw you coming, I’ve set out supper.”

 

“We already had supper.” Thorin said with ill grace.

 

“Dinner,” Bilbo corrected over Lobelia’s scandalized gasp. “And cram on the road is hardly a meal.”

 

“Certainly not,” She sniffed. “ _Dwarves_.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You can’t go!”

 

Merciful Mahal, all these hobbits did was eat. Bofur seemed content enough to stuff himself but Thorin had left the table once Bilbo had wandered off with a dinner roll in her mouth, muttering about her library. She’d only noticed him to protest when he asked what the best route was to return to the great east road.

 

“I must return to the Blue Mountains. Vili said my family thinks me dead.”

 

“And you’ll leave him back there at that mountain?

 

“He left me!” Thorin had wandered for days in the dark, thinking he had gotten Dwalin and Vili killed on a fool’s errand, but unable to let himself simply fall apart and die because what would happen to Dis and his nephews.? How long would his family wait and pray and have no answer? Guilt and anger formed a hard lump in his gut.

 

“Oh well that makes it perfectly acceptable!” Bilbo shouted back. “You heard that ranger, we woke something up! Whatever was in that elf was not normal.”

 

“And you heard the ranger say she would deal with it.”

 

“Fine!” She pointed to the door and turned away. “Go then if it pleases you.”

 

“I will.”

 

“I don’t need your help anyways.” She continued blithely.

 

“What?”

 

She continued drawing books from the shelf. “I’ll just figure this out on my own. Now I know there is something about Melkor in one of these; Lobelia has completely ruined my filing system.”

 

“You cannot go back there.” Thorin’s tone brooked no argument.

 

Bilbo did not seem to notice. “Yes, yes. I don’t see how it makes any difference to you.”

 

He knocked the book from her hands and seized her by both shoulders, ignoring her gasp of protest. “Whatever was there, those men feared it. You are no fighter Bilbo.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help.” She gripped his forearms. “Thorin…”

 

The sound of a crash from the bedroom made both of them jerk and turn around.

 

* * *

 

 

The room looked as though a hurricane has passed through it. Bilbo’s pack had been upended across the bed and then her drawers had been the next victims.  Vili yanked his head from the wardrobe, took in the sight of Thorin in the doorway with Bilbo hovering at his shoulder and raced for the open window. Thorin picked up the nearest thing to hand, some kind of glass sculpture, and threw it, pegging Vili right in the head. The dwarf went down like a sack of potatoes and the curio smashed to pieces against the floor.

 

“You made it out!” Bilbo sounded delighted, but Thorin was more wary.

 

“What are you doing, Vili? Why are you here?”

 

There was desperation on Vili’s handsome face. His braids were matted as though he had tried to run his hands through his hair and worsened the tangles and his brown eyes had a hunted look. “He needs the cipher.”

 

Thorin seized him by his tunic and lifted him bodily from the floor. “You did not escape the creature. You are helping him.”

 

“He killed the mercenaries; half the group dead with a gesture! The rangers knelt and offered their swords to him, Thorin. What should I have done?”

 

“Fought! And died with honour! We do not bend to the will of evil.”

 

Vili regained his feet, throwing off Thorin’s grip. “This is a darkness no one can fight. I will not watch my family fall to it. If I serve he will spare Dis and the boys, he will look with favor on our people. I can protect them!”

 

"Help stop this and you will not need to!"

 

Vili shook his head. “I won’t take that chance Thorin, not with my family.”

 

Thorin shouted, wordlessly and threw Vili from him. Bilbo stepped between them with her hands on either dwarf’s chest. “Enough!” She turned to Vili. “Tell us what he wants.”

 

His eyes flicked between Bilbo and the window and the bedroom door, gauging possible routes of escape. Thorin growled. “The cipher, the silver cylinder case.”

 

"I don’t have the case. The ranger woman took it."

 

"Then he will find her," Vili sagged back against the wall. "And he will return."

 

"Bag End isn't exactly an ideal seat of power. Why would he come here?"

 

"For you."

 

Her blood turned to ice. Thorin looked murderous. "He wants Bilbo?"

 

Vili turned to stare out the window; his voice took on a quality of recitation, as though his new Master had repeated this instruction many times. "For his return through the door, the seal must be opened. He cannot read the text without the cipher. And he cannot re-enter the world without her."

 

“If the monster knows where you are, you must not stay," Thorin handed Bilbo the pack she had been so thankful to put down only hours before. "Gather your things. We'll leave at first light."

 

"Oh, now it's we," She shoved the pack back at him.

 

He pushed it into her arms once more. "Since you cannot be trusted to stay out of danger."

 

"Danger is coming to me!" Bilbo's voice broke and the pack slid to the ground between them. She turned away from Thorin, covering her mouth with one hand and taking long slow breaths through her nose till the panic ebbed.

 

"Miss - Bilbo…" He began, but she waved him off, squaring her shoulders.

 

"I'm fine,” She put on a smile that was only a little forced and refocused her attention on Vili. “Now, where - oh."

 

The window to her bedroom was open and Vili was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Bofur and Thorin had taken it into their heads to walk a perimeter around Bag End before they settled, leaving Lobelia and Bilbo locked in to get some rest. Despite Bilbo’s protests, she eventually gave in to the luxurious feeling of her own nightclothes and dressing gown.

 

Sleep proved more elusive. Instead she remained by the fire in the sitting room, iron poker close to hand, restlessly paging through the one volume she had on the Valar. Which was, sadly, turning out to be more fairy tales than easy banishing spell instructions.

 

Midnight found her peckish and unsettled, searching the kitchen for scones; only to step back into the living room and find the light of her fire blocked by the tall silhouette of something that was no longer an elf.

 

“This is an odd place for you, Mairon.” He smiled in a way that would have been welcoming if it had not shown so very many teeth and crossed the room to her. Bilbo stepped backwards until her spine hit the table, the plate of food falling forgotten to the floor. “It took you so long to free me. Were you enjoying your time as Lord, instead of Lieutenant?”

 

“Stay back!”

 

Bilbo scrambled onto the table, determined to keep it between them but when he reached out a hand to lightly catch her wrist she found herself frozen. Slowly turning back to meet his eyes, like a rabbit pinned by the gaze of a wolf.

 

His hand slid up her arm, skating over the line of her collarbone exposed by her nightgown and the shiver that coursed through her was not completely revulsion.

 

“Do not run from me, my love.”

 

Bilbo shook her head. “Whoever you think I am, I’m not.”

 

“I will return you,” He soothed. With Bilbo on the table they were nearly of a height and he reached forward to kiss her. “You are mine, Mairon.  _Melin sorya-nin_. Your heart has always been mine.”

 

A teacup smashed against the side of his head.

 

“Her heart is not yours.” Lobelia flung another dish, catching him in the chest this time. “It belongs to her family!”

 

Melkor let out a roar, but whatever magic he had weaved over Bilbo snapped and she lashed out a hand to slap him full across the face. “ _L-lau_ ,” She stuttered. “ _Van_. I am not yours. I will not  _be_  yours. Go –  _Heca!_ ”

 

The look he gave Bilbo was enraged, but there was pain in it. He stepped towards her again, just as the door banged open and Thorin, Bofur and the ranger woman charged in, weapons drawn. “I will return," He promised. There was a flash of light so bright that Bilbo threw an arm over her eyes. When she looked up again he had vanished.

 

She stepped gingerly down from the table and towards Lobelia, who still had a death grip on a gravy boat.

 

“Was that my mother’s west farthing china you threw at him?” Bilbo demanded weakly, then her knees turned to water and she was quite abruptly sitting on the floor. Bofur and Thorin were at her side in a moment; the woman relieved Lobelia of her makeshift projectile and led her to the sitting room.

 

“He called me Marion,” Bilbo realized, in a distant sort of way that her voice was approaching hysterical. “Not the word, the  _name_. He said I was his lieutenant. That was the dark Valar lord Morgoth and he called me by the first name of Sauron and said he loved me!”

 

* * *

 

 

"It's not exactly Morgoth," Gilraen explained, taking a long draught form her mug. Bilbo had set them all out intending to make tea then had filled them with the brandy she kept for cooking. Even Lobelia had looked grateful at that, though she returned to the sitting room alone, declaring she would have no part in adventures of any kind. "His body, the majority of his power, is still held in check by the chains that bind him in the void. The Iron Crown was his when he walked Middle Earth. We were told that when the Valar cast him down it was reforged by Aule into a collar."

 

"Didn't look much like a collar, what with him wearing it on his head."

 

"Something brought the crown back into this world; that is why Mithrandir charged us with this task. It holds a measure of his mind, his intelligence, so a piece was broken from it to stop the crown being used. That piece –“

 

“Was on the cipher-thing.” Bofur finished.

 

“And I pried it off to finish the translation.”

 

“To stop him the crown must be broken again and Morgoth bound before he can raise an ally with the magic to bring his true form back from the timeless void.”

 

“What ally would have that power?”

 

Gilraen turned to Bilbo. “Sauron.”

 

Bilbo pursed her lips tight and made a muffled noise of frustration. “Why does he think I am Sauron?”

 

“He’s mad as a brush,” Bofur offered. “That’s not really the point is it? The point is we can’t let him get you.”

 

"Letting him isn’t the question. She needs to be willing."

 

"Well I most definitely am not. Problem solved!” She declared.

 

There was a distant crash and cries of panic from outside. “Not even to save your own people?”

 

Bilbo raced for the window. For a moment all she could see beyond was black, then the blackness shifted, writhing and she realized that she was looking at a cloud of insects thick enough to obscure the sky. They parted and disbursed, rushing on to the rest of the shire and revealing formations of Dunedain marching the roads.

 

A booming knock rattled the door and she heard Lobelia cursing. “Who on earth would be calling at such an hour. I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”

 

“No!” Their shout came too late. A team of rangers – their eyes no longer human but black as night – stormed into Bag End, one of them throwing Lobelia back. Her head hit the wall and she slumped to the ground, unconscious.

 

“Lobelia!”

 

Gilraen reached for her sleeve and missed. “Halfling, we cannot stay here!”

 

“I am not,” Bilbo marched through her sitting room, seizing the abandoned iron poker. “Half of anything!” She brought it down with such force against the nearest ranger’s head that the metal was bent when she pulled back. “Get out of my house!” She screamed at him, raining blow after blow.

 

There was no room to swing a mattock in the tiny halls of Bag End so Bofur simply charged like a battering ram at the rangers. Bull-rushing one off his feet and setting about him with the stone fists of Mahal’s children. The last caught one of Gilraen’s daggers tine deep in his forehead before he could even move to help his fellows.

 

Thorin, too stunned to join the fight, could only ease the poker from Bilbo’s hand once she spent her anger. “You,” he tipped her chin up gently so he could look into her face. “Are a little bit terrifying.”

 

Bilbo flushed at that, but seemed to regain herself. “That, I shall take as a compliment Master Oakenshield.” She turned to the others. “Is Lobelia alright?”

 

“Just unconscious.” Bofur lifted the small woman easily.

 

“Bring her into the bedroom,” Bilbo motioned him to follow. “She should be safe there if we lock the door and I need to change.”

 

Gilraen looked pained. “We have no time for finery Miss Baggins.”

 

“No. Absolutely not! I refuse to have any more adventures in my nightdress.”

 

“I don’t see why,” Thorin gave her a long and completely inappropriate look. “It’s quite becoming.”

 

“Everyone out.” She had meant for it to sound authoritative, but Bilbo was afraid she came off more than a little breathy instead.

 

* * *

 

 

Feeling much more prepared to stop the end of the world in a pair of sturdy trousers, Bilbo lead their little party through every back garden shortcut she could remember that would keep them off the road to the Green Dragon. Where Gilraen said those of her men who had escaped Morgoth’s control waited.

 

When they arrived, however, they found not just a handful of beleaguered rangers battling the forces of darkness alone but hobbits and other patrons fighting alongside. All of them roaring and laughing and generally seeming as though they were in the midst of a rather rough bar fight.

 

They waded into the fray, Bilbo kept carefully between Thorin and Bofur only to find at the center, laying waste to everyone who came close and somehow managing to keep his drink unspilled was

 

“Nori!”

 

The thief caught sight of them, threw his head back with a theatrical groan and smashed his now empty glass into a possessed ranger’s forehead. “I said, Miss Baggins, didn’t I say I never wanted to see you again?”

 

“You didn’t get very far.” She pointed out, ducking a flying tankard.

 

Nori laughed. “I am a newly free man!” He shouted the last two words, to a general drunken roar of an echo and a breath of silence when everyone who had a drink took a drink. “The nearest tavern sounded like a good idea."

 

“A man after my own heart.” Bofur smacked another drone with his mattock and stole the drink from the nearest hobbit, who was so focused on sitting on a man’s neck and punching him repeatedly he barely seemed to notice.

 

The sounds of fighting outside the Green Dragon quieted and then the room began to fall silent as the attention of its patrons focused on the figure at the door. “Funny you should mention men being after you."

 

Melkor, Morgoth, fairly glided across the floor. His presence filled the room, seeming to suck light from around him. There was the faintest expression of cruel pleasure on his too-flawless face.

 

“Come with me Mairon, it is time we returned to the full measure of our power.” He held out a hand and beckoned once. “Take my hand and I will spare this village and your small protectors.”

 

Bilbo glanced at the helpless hobbits in Morgoth’s thrall, at the determination on Thorin’s face as he held his sword out to defend her.  “Do you have a plan?” She asked.

 

“Do not surrender you to him,” Thorin replied. “That is the plan.”

 

She touched his shoulder and he finally tore his eyes from the dark creature. “You'll need to come up with something better. Or when he turns me into Sauron I am coming after you first.”

 

Bilbo stepped forward and took Morgoth’s hand.

 

“No.” Thorin protested too late, swinging his sword up for a blow

 

“Stop!” Gilraen seized his arms. “Dying here does her no good.”

 

“He has to take me back to Belegost first.” Morgoth drew her close to his body, one possessive hand resting on her shoulder, fingers spread across her chest.

 

“This is not over.” Thorin swore, his eyes fixed on Morgoth, but he still struggled as the demon smiled and pulled her away. “Bilbo!”

 

“Stay back Thorin!” She shouted as Morgoth lifted her on to his black horse, Vili and half the possessed Dunedain following behind.

 

The remaining rangers stared blankly at the little company for a heartbeat. “Kill them!” Morgoth instructed and Bilbo’s scream of protest was swallowed by the sound of ringing steel.

 

“I think,” Nori said, all traces of the slur gone from his voice as he suddenly bristled with knives. “Now is the time for a quick exit.”

 

“Back door!” Gilraen shouted. “To the woods, go!”

 

* * *

 

 

They finally stopped at the camp Gilraen and her rangers had been using as a base. She immediately went for the horses but Nori stumbled to a halt and would go no further. “What is going on?”

 

“End of the world, seem like.” Bofur offered.

 

“There isn’t time for this,” Thorin paced like a caged tiger. “We have to get to Belegost.”

 

Gilraen shook her head. “The mountain is going to be crawling with rangers. We need to go for help. Raise more men-“

 

“To fall under Morgoth’s sway before they even draw their swords?” He spat. “Men are weak, and if we wait we lose Bilbo.”

 

“He does not have the cipher.” Gilraen pulled the silver capsule from her tunic.

 

Thorin snatched it up and threw it as far as he could. “Blast the cipher!”

 

“He has Bilbo,” Bofur explained. “She cracked the thing and wrote it all down.” Gilraen cursed, slumping down on a rock and looking lost, but Bofur wasn’t finished. “We can’t take the mountain. We can’t take the time to go for help. Seems what we need is someone with a talent for getting in to places without being seen.”

 

Thorin’s eyes widened with realization and the both of them turned to look at Nori.

 

“What? Oh no, no!” He insisted. “I paid my debt to you. I am not getting involved.”

 

“Nori we need you. This is a matter of more than just our lives.” Thorin said earnestly. “If you ever claimed to hold the spirit of the _khazâd_ , you will not falter now.”

 

“Not that nobility of spirit isn't wonderful but what’s in it for me?”

 

Thorin smiled. “If this goes well? The first right of plunder from the city of Belegost.”

 

“Just don’t take anything with writing on it.” Bofur said agreeably.

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo’s eyes burned and her throat was tight, but she had not cried and she would not cry for her friends. Not in front of the creature who killed them.

 

Morgoth dismounted their horse at the edge of the canyon leading to Belegost’s broken doors and strode away, leaving Bilbo alone on the horse. She reached out and lifted the reins. Her legs weren't long enough to reach the stirrups, but Bilbo was sure she could hang on long enough to clear the plains and reach the wood, if she could get out of the crowd. She tightened her thighs preparing to try for it when Vili caught the horse’s bridle.

 

“Best not lass.” He said quietly, lifting her down.

 

Bilbo stepped back the instant her feet touched the ground and backhanded him across the face. “We would have helped you!”

 

No one around them reacted when Vili caught her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back. "You brought this down on all of us," He hissed at her, shoving her towards the city gates without releasing his grip. "Do not presume to tell me how best to protect my wife and sons."

 

"I'm sure they will be very proud of their father."

 

Vili didn't respond to her barb, but he tightened his hold until Bilbo couldn't stop herself from crying out. "Keep moving."

 

* * *

 

 

"The interesting thing about humans," Nori explained, barely out of breath. "And dwarrows as well come to think, is that they always expect things to come in at eye level. They never bother to look up."

 

Thorin, puffing for air as he hauled himself over the ledge shot Nori a glare that could have cracked granite. They had reached Belegost just ahead of the slow moving column Morgoth had collected, but on the open plain they would have been run down in a moment. Instead Nori lead them up what might have been a goat path, until they could climb the last stretch to reach the parapet above the broken gate.

 

The years had not been kind to the stone here. One side of the defensible balcony was blocked with fallen rubble and the stairs on the opposite side were half collapsed. Once they descended they would not be getting back out the same way.

 

The parapet did offer the chance to size up their enemy; though any advantage gained would be minor at best, for Morgoth had pulled most of his force back into the ruined citadel.

 

There were a line of men below them at the gate and two more guarding the fissure in the floor that lead to the well-chamber. The stairway down was narrow enough that if they could reach it Morgoth's forces would be unable to overwhelm them but once the narrow tunnel ended they would be trapped on the stairs with no defense, exposed to whatever numbers might be at the bottom.

 

Nori waved them up and over to the edge of the balcony. There were a number of other rooms connected to the central hall, not accessible from the parapet, but with arches that served as windows. They clambered as silently as they could around the decorative columns and dropped into the hallway beyond. This level seemed to have fared much better than the main floor. Dust lay an inch thick on everything but what remained seemed relatively untouched and when Nori pulled them through the first intact door they found, the hinges did not squeak behind them.

 

"This is less than encouraging."

 

"We don't have the men to assault the stairs directly," Gilraen said. "Even if we could kill them without alerting the gate guards whoever is at the bottom would hear us coming down."

 

"Erm, Thorin?"

 

"Unless we didn't use the stairs," Thorin mused.

 

"What?"

 

"Thorin."

 

"We found the well-shaft because the floor had broken through. It's is almost the width of the central chamber. If we could drop through the floor…"

 

"Anyone below would be crushed."

 

He gave Gilraen a humourless smile. "You said nothing could kill him and he wants Bilbo alive."

 

"Thorin!" Bofur interrupted loudly enough that the whole group turned their glares on him. Sure he had their attention, Bofur reached out and struck a light to one of the ancient torches, illuminating where they had chosen to hide themselves.

 

It was a trophy room.

 

The skulls of great beasts rested on stone plinths amid displays of ancient weapons and the threads of what might once have been great tapestries. Two armour stands flanked a crystal case at the end of the room, showing off the ringed mail that Belegost was famed for creating. Within the display there was a hammer made entirely of worked mithril that glowed like a star and with it-

 

"Claimed under first right of plunder." Nori said the instant he caught sight of the necklace. A stunning piece made of blue opals and finished with a sapphire the size of a plumb.

 

Bofur nodded in agreement, his eyes on a pair of emerald earrings. "Down was the wrong choice."

 

Nori made quick work of the crystal case with a diamond tipped cutting tool he had absolutely no legal reasons to have on him and squirreled away his plunder. Thorin lifted the hammer, astonished at its lightness and perfect balance.

 

"If we could move on!" Gilraen sounded irritable but she was stuffing a broad, gold chased dirk into her belt.

 

They doused the torches and slipped back into the main hall. Thorin passed Gilraen his bow and without a pause took a running leap off the archway and out into space. Bofur stuffed a fist in his mouth to keep from cursing and Nori held his breath but Thorin manage to find a handhold on the heavy carvings and haul himself up. He nodded a signal to the rest of them, as though he hadn’t just risked smearing himself across the floor.

 

Gilraen brought up the bow, Nori matching her movements with one of his many throwing knives, as one they took aim and loosed. The two guards on the stairs dropped without a sound, arrow and blade sprouting from their throats.

 

The great square columns that circled the room had not been carved from a single span of stone but put together to ornament the graceful angles of the roof and to break up the space. They were not supporting anything and so their builders had not deemed it necessary to connect them to anything. Above their heads, Thorin braced himself against the ceiling and strained.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bizarrely enough, Vili's grip on her arms made it easier for Bilbo to brave the dark stairs downward, though she cursed inwardly that she could not fling herself off this time. She could see by the time they reached the bottom, Morgoth emitting his own unearthly glow. The light itself somehow dark, while still providing illumination.  Vili's pupils were huge and alien in the faint glow, for a moment he looked like yet another terrible monster and Bilbo wrenched herself free of him with a cry. She stumbled forward and landed on her knees before Morgoth. He smiled down at her.

 

"You were clever to create this door here, Mairon." He commended whoever it was he thought he was speaking to. "Angband must be watched, any stirrings there would cause alarm. No one would think to look in a kingdom that fell even before I was forced to surrender. Now all that is left is to return you to your former strength and you will be able to bring me back through the door."

 

He reached out and snapped the thin chain of Bilbo’s necklace, her parent’s rings chiming lightly as they hit the floor. Morgoth had eyes only for the plain gold band. He rolled it between his fingers for a moment, his burned hands glowing with molten heat and words began to appear on the metal. Then he reached out and pressed it just below Bilbo’s clavicle. She tried to flinch back, tried to wrench away before it could sear a brand into her chest, but the ring was cool. Innocent gold against her skin.

 

Then Morgoth tripped his head back and began to sing.

 

Bilbo knew the stories of how the world was sung into creation, that Morgoth had added dissonance to the song of the Ainur and created evil, but that had not prepared her for the bone shaking, exquisite, painful  _wrongness_  of the sound. He wove into the music the words of the inscription she had translated and Bilbo felt something in her mind that had not been there before.  Something that spoke with a voice like crackling flames and howling wind.

 

_Master!_  It screamed.  _My dread lord! Let me walk at your side again and we will reorder the world to your designs._

 

_No!_  Bilbo fought back, pushing the thoughts away; trying to shove the presence out.

 

_Surrender, little thing. You cannot hope to fight_. It taunted as Morgoth’s song rose higher.  _Let me make you something greater, something worthy._ She was screaming, or trying to scream. Her throat was on fire but Bilbo could hear nothing but that voice.

 

There was a great rumbling crash and the music cut off abruptly as the ceiling caved in on Morgoth’s head.

 

Bilbo hit the floor painfully hard, scraping her cheek along the stone. There was a grunt in her ear and the thing on her back jerked forward. Her head began to clear, the presence inside it slipping away now that the terrible song had fallen silent and she realized it was Vili sheltering her from the rock-fall. He lifted off her and Bilbo looked around at the devastation.

 

 Thorin was standing on the broken capital of the pillar he had ridden down as it crashed through the floor above, balanced like a trick rider with a silver hammer in one hand.

 

“Bilbo,” Her name was a breath and then he was rushing to her side, helping both her and Vili stand as Bofur, Gilraen and Nori skidded down the fall of debris into the well. “Are you alright?”

 

She nodded and he brushed her errant curls behind her ear, moving to cup her face in one big palm. “Not the time!” Nori shouted.

 

The fall of rock that had buried Morgoth was lifting, levitating into the air as he unbent from beneath it. He took in the scene and his unearthly face twisted in hideous anger. “Destroy them!”

 

The possessed rangers who had fallen back in a stunned stupor moved forward, drawing their weapons.

 

“Bilbo we need to know how to stop him,” Thorin nodded at the half obscured writing on the floor and drew his sword, twisting it to hold hilt first to Vili. “Are you with us?”

 

Vili looked from Morgoth to Bilbo, rolled his shoulder to test the range of motion where a chunk of falling rock had left him bleeding and took the offered weapon. “Guess I am,  _yâsith-_ _nadad_.” They took up defensive positions on either side of her as she knelt over the seal. “But if this goes wrong you are explaining it to Dis.”

 

He lunged left to engage one of the men who had been standing in formation along the walls, Thorin moving the opposite way to stop the one standing by the stairs.

 

Nori's throwing knives buried themselves in the chest of a ranger and he jumped after them, Bofur following with a roar.

 

"Morgoth!"  Gilraen shouted a challenge. The Valar turned to face her, his power as it roiling off him in dark tendrils, making the very air throb. "As Fingolfin brought you low so shall I."

 

Morgoth laughed holding out one hand almost lazily to catch the black warhammer that his magic spun out of the air. "I  _broke_   _Finwë’s_ son." He hissed. "And there will be no rescue for you, girl."

 

She dodged back as he brought the weapon down and it broke the pillar she's been standing on to powder.

 

More men were storming down the stairs and Thorin raced up to push them back. The narrow ledge kept them from advancing too fast and Bofur and Nori waited below to dispatch those who chose to jump rather than face the dwarf's star bright hammer.

 

Gilraen should have had speed on her side, against Morgoth's large frame and larger weapon but he was inhumanly quick and she barely managed to get under his guard. Spinning close she brought her sword up with both hands and rammed it deep into his side. Morgoth paused, looking from the blade through his stomach to the panting woman who held it. He stepped back off the weapon and the wound closed instantly. The colour drained from Gilraen's face even as a swing of the warhammer threw her across the room.

 

"Bilbo!" Bofur shouted, desperately.

 

"Got it!" She scrambled to her feet. “I’ve got it!”

 

Morgoth crossed the room in three strides. Banishing the warhammer and seizing Bilbo by the throat, lifting her into the air. “Your defiance outstrips your use, halfling!” He roared, conjuring a curving black knife in his open hand.

 

“No!” Vili sprinted forward, knocking Bilbo free of Morgoth’s grip and taking blow.

 

“Vili!” Thorin shouted, helpless.  

 

Bilbo hauled herself up. “The crown,” She screamed. “Break the crown and bind him with it!”

 

From ten feet above Thorin leapt, hammer pulled back and with all his strength and fury brought down a terrible blow on Morgoth's forehead. He ricocheted back at the force of it, the mithril hammer singing as it shattered and the Valar laughed, low and cruel, not so much as staggered by the hit.

 

Dwarves were given by their maker true dedication to their craft and long lives to perfect their knowledge. For a century and more Thorin had worked metal; he was a master smith and he could find a piece's weakness with a glance. There was a faint popping ring as the black iron crown cracked where the shard had been so gingerly set on Morgoth's brow. The whole room seemed to freeze as the fragment slipped free and fell to the floor.

 

Bofur and Nori exploded into movement. Nori jumping to snatch the crown free as Bofur kicked out Morgoth's knees and bending the ring of black metal tight around the creature's neck. Bilbo was shouting, her eyes half on the seal and half on Morgoth.

 

"In the name of Eru Iluvatar by the strength of Angainor; Morgoth-Bauglir, Alkar, Elder King, Black Foe – Melkor be bound from this place through the timeless void until the coming of Dagor Dagorath!"

 

Morgoth let out a scream of wordless denial, his head tipping back as light overwhelmed him. The whole room shielded their eyes at its terrible brightness.

 

When at last the searing glow faded, Morgoth and whatever remained of the elf he had inhabited was gone. In his place there was only a black iron crown. Bofur was the first to break the stillness, scrambling to kick the broken shard as far away from the crown as possible.

 

Nori began to laugh but Thorin couldn't focus on anything but figure crumpled at the centre of the room. Vili's eyes were open and aware but his lips were stained with blood. He grinned ruefully at Thorin's approach.

 

"You were right." He laughed, and then wheezed with the pain.

 

Thorin pressed his hands against the wound helplessly. It was much too late to stop the bleeding. "No, no. I was selfish,  _yâsith-_ _nadadel_. Too greedy for a place in the life of your wife, your sons."

 

"Your sister," Vili reminded him. "You were there for them, you protected them. Even in this, I failed." the noise he made was anguished from more than just the wound.

 

"You gave us time Vili, that saved us all."

 

"Tell Dis -” He choked on the blood in his throat.

 

"She knows. She will know you are a hero. Fili and Kili will be proud to be your sons." He bent to press their brows together. "Go in peace to the halls of waiting, Vili son of Kiri. We will join you when our time is done."

 

Vili's eyes fluttered closed and his breathing slowed to a stop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They built Vili a cairn covering the binding inscription from the great slabs which had fallen from the roof; Gilraen and her rangers helping where they could in between tending for their wounded. Thorin wrapped Vili's cold hand around the black iron crown and placed it on his chest before they sealed the makeshift casket, letting Vili be its warden. They had no proper tools but Bilbo painted an inscription in neat cirth runes with the last of her ink.

 

_Here lies Vili, son of Kiri, beloved of Durin's line; who stood against evil._

 

With luck he would prevent the words below from ever being discovered again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sunlight and warm summer air seemed almost bewildering when they emerged from Belegost.

 

"You could come back to Bag End," Bilbo offered. All three dwarves were preparing for departure, strapping their packs to whatever mounts they had managed to scavenge from the rangers who had already left.  "See to your injuries, get some sleep."

 

"It's just a few bruises," Bofur bussed her forehead with a cheeky grin. "You go on back. I'll be with the caravans next time they come through. We can go visit the weed eaters."

 

"Don't you ever bring me a relic again." She admonished, throwing her arms around his neck.

 

Nori got the next hug and squeezed her back with force, though he made a face once they released one another. "They'll be wanting damages for that pub of yours," He waggled his braided brows. "Best I don't hang around."

 

He and Bofur fell to friendly squabbling as Bilbo turned to Thorin who looked so noble and sad she didn't dare offer him an embrace. "Are you determined to go?"

 

"I must return to my sister, my nephews," He said gravely. "They deserve to know that Vili found me, that he saved us and fell stopping a great evil from entering the world."

 

"Please pass on my respects. And… thank you. For everything."

 

He bowed, deep and sincere. "At your service Miss Baggins."

 

Nori made a muffled noise that sounded like a groan as they both turned to their packs.

 

"Are you-" Thorin began and Bilbo whirled back to him.

 

"Yes?"

 

"Are you sure you would not prefer to ride with us?"

 

"Oh," She shook her head, ducking away from his intent gaze. "No, despite the last few days hobbits are not fond of riding. I'll be back in the Shire before dark and quite safe."

 

"Very well." Bofur made the noise this time and he pitched what looked like a money pouch at Nori's head.

 

Bilbo hefted her bag on her shoulders and nodded to them all. "Thank you again; I really can’t say that enough. Safe journey.”

 

She made it ten feet.

 

“Wait, wait stop!” The dwarves hadn’t actually gone anywhere yet but Bilbo was not about to let that derail her. It didn’t matter that this was the most embarrassing thing she had ever done on purpose, it didn’t matter that she was likely red as a tomato, this was her adventure and it would end the way she wanted it to. “Thorin Oakenshield, I believe you own me a proper kiss.”

 

Thorin dropped his bag into the dirt. “Oh thank Mahal.”

 

He caught her up in his arms so quickly her feet quite left the ground and then she was being kissed; gentle, slow and _thorough_ enough to make her hanging toes curl. It was a long moment before he pulled back and Bilbo fluttered her eyes open with a little pleased hum. “Much better.”

 

He rumbled a laugh and set her back on her feet, turning to their audience. “I think I had better see Miss Baggins home.”

 

Bofur was laughing fit to fall off his horse. “Oh aye, my king. Wouldn’t want her getting lost.”

 

Nori cuffed him over the head and seized his reigns, dragging them both off with a jaunty wave that was entirely lost on Bilbo.

 

“King?”

 

“You named me so,” Thorin wrapped on hand in his pony’s lead and nudged a stunned Bilbo to walking. “Did you not notice my surprise?”

 

“Yes but I didn’t think…” She flushed ruby red and Thorin had to stop so he could kiss her again. “King of where?” Bilbo demanded when they broke apart.

 

 “Tell me, have you ever heard of the Lonely Mountain?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic makes use of and alters some locations and events from the Silmarillion


End file.
